


Three is a Charm

by pantsoffdanceoff



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/pseuds/pantsoffdanceoff
Summary: “Welcome to Itty Bitty Pie Company!” and the smell of fresh-baked pies is all the warning Kent gets before he walks face-first into Jack’s back.“Ow,” he says, mildly, but Zimms isn’t even looking at him. He’s staring at the twinky little blond behind the counter.





	Three is a Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



“Welcome to Itty Bitty Pie Company!” and the smell of fresh-baked pies is all the warning Kent gets before he walks face-first into Jack’s back.

“Ow,” he says, mildly, but Zimms isn’t even looking at him. He’s staring at the twinky little blond behind the counter. Gaping, even.

Someone’s got a type. Once upon a time, Kent would have made fun of the unenterprising predictability of one Jack Zimmerman, but those days were behind him. Also, he'd been promised pie. “Anyone tell you your pies aren’t the least bit itty bitty?” he says, once he gets a look at the display case.

The twink honest to god giggles. “Sometimes they are mini pies,” he says, in a charming Southern drawl, “And sometimes they’re just made by me.” He points at his name tag.

“Nice to meet you, Bitty,” says Kent, revising his mental image from cute-but-the-paint-could-dry-a-little to business-owner-hottie. “I’m Kent and this is--”

“Hi,” says Jack, still beet red.

It’s clearly all that they’re getting out of him. Kent pastes on his best media smile and winks. “That’s Jack. We’ve been told you have the best pies in Atlanta.”

“Oh, stop it you,” says Bitty, clearly pleased. “What sort of pies are you gentlemen interested in?”

They chat while Bitty introduces a startling array of pies bigger than his face, Jack trailing behind Kent like a cherry red pylon. Kent sees the appeal--does eyes, long clever fingers, a mouth that--oops. Kent looks up before he can be caught looking. “Yeah, I’ll take those all.”

“You sure? That’s a lot of pie,” says Bitty, before turning a pretty shade of pink. “Oh, I mean, uh--”

Kent grins. “Worried we won’t be back for more?” On a whim, he plucks a business card off the counter and twirls it. “There. Now I can’t forget.”

“And here I was hoping the pies would do the job,” says Bitty. He starts unfolding a stack of pie boxes. “Now don’t be strangers, you hear?”

It takes both of them to carry all the pies homes, but it’s not Kent’s lack of coordination that makes him drop one right there in the foyer.

Jack’s on him before the door’s even closed, hot eager tongue diving into his mouth.

Kent gasps as his back hits the door. He can feel the paper of pie box crumpling between their bodies, but he reaches up a hand to tug on Jack’s hair anyway. It earns him a full-body shudder, the heat from the pies seeping through his shirt.

“You wanna talk about it?” Kent says when Jack ducks his head to suck just under Kent’s ear, his leg slotting between Kent’s, and feels the minute shake of Jack’s head.

But Kent wouldn’t be Kent if he didn’t push. “Oh, I’m so glad y’all are back--” Kent gasps. Jack flattens him against the door, his thigh adding just the right amount of friction, and suddenly Kent doesn’t have to pretend to be breathless. “I’ve got just the pie you’re looking for in the back room. You boys want a taste of my--”

They never make it to the bedroom.

Afterwards, Kent digs through his pocket for the glossy business card, while Jack visibly steels himself to say something.

He’s expecting “that was a one-time thing” or “I promise never to see him again”, but what happens instead is Jack blurting, “I started watching his vlogs during that-That Year.”

“What?” says Kent, and drops the business card. Trust Jack to condense overdosing, missing the draft, rehab, and the painful on-again-off-again dance of his relationship with Kent while he was detoxing into two words.

Jack huffs and digs out his phone. He opens Youtube and Bitty’s face stares up at him, frozen in the middle of gesturing at a lump of dough. He taps Bitty’s face, and Bitty’s prerecorded voices starts talking about butter types.

“Remember when you told me to learn cooking?” says Jack, staring at the hardwood floor.

Kent frowns. “I remember telling you to get a hobby that wasn’t hockey, but sure.”

“Well, I, uh--” Jack does a bit more tapping, and suddenly he’s scrolling through dozens of videos, solid red bars under all of them, years worth of videos Kent’s never been privy to. “I can block him,” says Jack. Kent looks up sharply, to see the worry and guilt in Jack’s eyes. “It doesn’t have to be a thing. I-we don’t have to see him ever again.”

And there we go. Kent taps send on his own phone with more force than necessary. “Too late,” he says, and shows Jack the Instagram DM he just sent Bitty.

The thing is, Kent isn’t jealous--or at least not in the way Jack thinks. They’re professional hockey players playing for teams on opposite coasts half the year. He doesn’t give a shit who Jack bangs--they won’t have been part of Jack’s life the way Kent has, for his first record break, his first championship, his first kiss. The only time he’d been locked out of Jack’s life had been during, well, That Year. Who was this kid to have what Kent didn’t?

Two days later, after a shutout loss to the Rhinos, Kent unlocked his phone to kvetch at Jack and found a series of DMs from bittypieco waiting for him.

_That poor pie. :(_

_How were the others?_

_Is your name really Purry McPurrface?_

Kent grinned despite himself. _Im afraid uve found my deepest darkest secret._

The season goes on. The Aces crawl back from their east coast road trip to lick their wounds. They’re barely hanging onto a wildcard slot, and, just like every year, April is coming in way too fast. Kent’s head is full of standings and contingencies. _If_ the Millionaires lose the next three games, _if_ the Blazers win in overtime, _if_ the Thrashers face the Falconers in the first round…

Kent doesn’t call Jack.

He doesn’t call Bitty either, but the Instagram DMs mushroom into Instagram stories, Twitter DMs, text messages. He’s halfway down the hall, trying to balance a hotel ice machine bucket full of ice for his shoulder, two Gatorades and furiously typing why Bitty is wrong, Lucky is a masterpiece, when he realizes what he’s doing. Also, he left his key in his room.

 _Miss me?_ He texts Jack, and heads towards the elevator.

Jack Skypes him two hours later. The Thrashers have a comfortable margin in the standings, and it shows in Jack’s face. Kent drinks it in, the soft set of his mouth, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the last sight of his jawline before it’ll be hidden by playoff beard. It’s hard to believe this is the same Jack he’d met at sixteen, hunched in on himself, hunted by the weight of high expectations. Kent’s half-hard before Jack even says hey, and it doesn’t take him long to get all the way there.

April happens, and then May, when Mike Smith turns into a Vezina god and Kent shoots and shoots and his stick breaks and--

Kent fumes all the way through the flight to Atlanta, but it’s hard to stay mad when he sees Jack at the pick-up zone, clearly trying to not stuff his hands in his pockets.

“Pity pie, c’mon,” says Kent, because the Thrashers had been knocked out of Eastern Conference Finals, and Kent believes in ripping off that band-aid. And then when Jack’s brows furrowed, “My treat.”

Kent’s lucky Jack has no sense of direction, because he doesn’t clue into where they’re headed until they turn the corner to Itty Bitty Pie Company.

“Kenny,” says Jack, stopping short. “I thought that was a one-time--”

“I’m just visiting a friend,” says Kent. “C’mon, we can leave if he bites.”

Jack shuffled in dubiously after him. Bitty’s delighted to see them, of course. “Kent!” he says, and cranes his neck, “Oh, and Jack too! Hi!”

“Hi,” says Jack, managing a smile.

“Y’all are in luck,” says Bitty, before ducking into a back room. Kent can hear his voice fading as he goes. ”This pie is just about ready to come out of the oven, if you’ll give me a second.”

Kent looks at Jack. “No biting so far.”

Jack ducks his head and smiles. “No.”

They’re served a slice each of golden pie, honey and peaches and spice. Kent finds himself diving in for another forkful. “What is this, Bitty? It’s fantastic.”

Bitty smiles. It’s not entirely friendly. “I call it ‘Better than Britney’.”

Jack chokes. Kent looks at him in alarm, but it turns out he’s laughing, the real belly laugh he doesn’t bring out much in public. Bitty’s laughing too, and for a moment, they’re mirrored in the bright Georgian sun, two parentheses curled towards each other, and Kent thinks, _oh._

The door chimes.

“Welcome--welcome to Itty Bitty Pie Company,” says Bitty, wiping at an eye. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’d like a--Jack Zimmermann?”

Both Jack and Kent twist to look at her. A tiny woman in a Thrasher jersey stares at them, hands covering her mouth. Jack’s smile is already subsiding into his media face. “That’s me.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m a huge fan,” she gushes, as Kent passes him a Sharpie under the table.

He’s not looking at Jack, though. Bitty disappears into the back of the bakery for a long while while Jack takes a few selfies with the fan and Kent twiddles his thumbs. He’s pleasant enough when he returns, but still, Kent wonders.

They fly out to Montreal the next day.

Kent hugs Bob and Alicia, shakes hands with everyone, even the other five million Lapointes he doesn’t know. Anything to keep him from picking up his phone and checking for messages.

He does it anyway.

 _Hey,_ he types, then deletes. _Domination is gna blow ur mind._ He deletes that too.

The church is beautiful, as is Troy’s joy when he sees his new bride walk down the aisle, even if Kent’s going to chirp him forever for it. Jack’s finger brushes against Kent and he startles, looking over at him. Jack looks worried.

“Weddings,” says Kent, and scrubs at his eyes as unobtrusively as he can.

But Jack leaves his finger there, slowly stroking Kent’s pinky as Troy and Jessica pledge to support each other through sickness and health, ‘til death do us part.

On the flight home, Kent pokes through his unread messages, until Jack places his hand over Kent’s phone. “Kenny,” he says, and then hits a roadblock.

Kent just raises his eyebrows.

“If--you shouldn’t--” Jack frowns. “We can stay in Vegas instead.”

“Does that mean I get to teach you poker?” says Kent, and then his Jack-to-English translator kicks in. “Wait, are you worried I’m sad about Bitty?”

Jack keeps frowning. “But--”

Kent rolls his eyes. “Buddy, the last time I was sad over someone not picking up was when I was eighte--” He freezes.

“Wha--oh.” And then apparently it has been enough time that they can talk about it, because all Jack says is, “Well, I hope you’re not going to go break into Bitty’s bathroom, at least.”

Kent slowly relaxes. “Sorry, TSA took my lockpick.”

Kent has never been one to put off until tomorrow what he can steamroll over today. Carpe whatever. They’ve barely stored away their suitcases before Kent commanders Jack’s car and plugs in the address to Itty Bitty into Jack’s GPS.

“Hey, has there always been a line?” says Jack while Kent is parking.

Kent looks. He’s expecting a couple people waiting outside the door, but instead there is are people wrapping around the corner. About half of them are wearing Thrasher jerseys. Kent is suddenly very aware he’s in enemy territory. “Uh. Maybe we could go around the other side?”

“What’s on the--wait up!”

The sound turns a few heads. Kent keeps speeding up, when a hand suddenly yanks him off balance.

He’s face to face with Bitty, who has a surprisingly strong grip on Kent’s arm. “Shhh,” says Bitty.

This close, he can see streaks of flour on the side of Bitty’s face. He smells like fruit and honey. Kent tries on a crooked grin. “Didja miss me?”

“I’d miss you more if the crowd outside got to you,” whispers Bitty, “Keep your voice down.”

Kent tries to get comfortable in space between two coolers. “Any reason we’re not--”

The kitchen’s double doors swing open. “I’ll be just a minute!” calls a girl before she bustles in and grabs a pie, swishing back out before the doors can swing close.

“It’s been like this all week,” says Bitty, minty breath ghosting against Kent’s jaw, “They keep asking for Jack. I--”

His lip glances against Kent’s cheek and Kent shivers.

He looks down at that. Bitty has stilled, eyes huge, but he’s close and so warm and sweet-smelling. Kent brushes a thumb against the smear of flour on his cheek.

Bitty swallows. “I--are you sure?”

In response, Kent tips Bitty chin up, brushing their lips together. It’s slow and sweet, until the noise outside suddenly changes pitch. Kent pulls away guiltily. “Hey,” he says, and then has to steal another kiss at Bitty’s wondering look, “How do you feel about saving Jack?”

Kent paces the tiny kitchen while Bitty runs interference. He imagines himself squaring off against Jack. You’ll have someone closer in Atlanta, he imagines himself saying. No. You want this, same as me. You should be happy.

The doors swing open.

Jack strides in, saying, “Kent, Bitty says you needed a hand?” and Kent snorts, looking at his serious, earnest, dear face, and kisses him.

“That should do it for--oh!” Bitty skids to a stop, and Kent grabs Jack’s collar before he can pull away.

“Jack, it’s okay,” says Kent, studying the way Bitty’s eyes go dark, flicking between Kent’s mouth and Jack’s.

Bitty takes a step towards Jack, who sways helplessly. Bitty says, “It’s alright, sweetheart,” softly, like Jack’s made of spun sugar, and rises up on his toes to kiss Jack, and Kent goes warm and molten inside.

Jack is smiling when they break apart. “Hi,” he says, and Bitty smiles up at him.

* * *

There’s a hole in Kent’s pie crust, and everything he tries just makes it worse.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, what happened to the filling?” Kent and Kit share a look. “Good lord, how in the world--”

“Sorry,” says Jack, not sounding entirely contrite. The house is filled with the smells of cherry filling. “Can you show me again how to add the pectin?”

Bitty huffs, but smiles when Jack settles a hand against the small of his back. “It’s like you weren’t listening the first time I explained.”

“To be fair, he was a little distracted that time,” says Kent, dodging a light swat. The doorbell rings, and Kent makes a strategic exit before Bitty can see his crust.

“Parser!” says Scraps, in a way that sounds like he’s started drinking early. “Long time no see!”

“Yeah, yeah, funny guy,” says Kent. In the distance, he can see Deke and Taver’s cars pulling up the driveway. “Get in before you let all the heat out.”

“Corey!” says Bitty, giving Scraps a hug, “Sorry, we’re still working on the pie, but grab a snack.”

Scraps looks around exaggeratedly and pokes Kent. “Pie! Don’t tell me this guy had anything to do with it. I might not make it out alive.”

“Hey, now,” says Kent, just as Deke reaches the front steps and says, “For fucks sake, Scraps, do you not remember the last time he bag skated us? Hey, Bits. Hey, Zimms. Tell me Parse had nothing to do with the cooking.”

Kent tips his head back and laughs loud enough to scare Kit.


End file.
